Forever Knight
Serious Doubts
This series provides an alternate ending for Close Call. In this universe, the third season is radically changed as well.
**********
Don Schanke stared at the paper on the clipboard before him. It had to be wrong. It was just impossible. Incomprehensible. It couldn't be. But then again ...
He double checked the notes that he had already double checked. For the fifth time.
**********
Known Associates
There was something about the owner of the Raven that didn't seem to be quite right. Not that she was weird or anything like that. Well, she was weird, but in a sexy sort of a way, and she was also drop dead gorgeous. They were friends, they had acknowledged that. Old friends, they said. But just how old? She had said that they had known each other since the Renaissance. He thought she was just exaggerating. But was she?
Allergic To Sun
That was a gimmee. He admitted as much. According to Dr. Lambert, he suffered from phototropism. An allergy to bright sunlight. Every time he had to go out during the day, he either rode in the trunk while Schanke drove, or he was bundled up so tight that it was a wonder he could breathe. Of course, if what Schanke concluded was true, he would not necessarily have to breathe. He had once said that he did not sunburn, he imploded. Was he just making a joke?
Hypnosis
He was positive he had tried to hypnotize him after the shooting last night. He vaguely remembered him telling him to forget what he saw. He couldn't remember what it was he was supposed to forget, but he did remember his eyes seemingly burrowing into his mind. Also, Janette had tried to talk him into dropping his investigations when he went to her for information. She had that same sort of look in her eyes as well. Was this the first time? How much other stuff had he been 'persuaded' to forget.
Also, he had the uncanny ability to put witnesses at ease. He could get even the most hard core suspects to confess when the others couldn't even get them to talk. Maybe he was using a little Doot De Doot Doot?
Needs BLOOD!
He claimed that he kept the blood in his refrigerator to thicken his paints. He told him that Raphael had taught him that trick. He thought maybe he had read it somewhere, but what if it was the real Raphael? If that was all that he was using it for, why was there so much of it? And why was it in fancy wine bottles? And why was it refrigerated?
He had never seen him eat anything. Not even a donut. What cop worth his salt didn't like a donut or two now and then? It came with the badge. All he ever consumed was those protein shakes that Dr. Lambert brought him. Even then, he rarely took more than a few sips. And he made the most gowdawful face. Like he was going to throw up or something. He had seen him drinking 'wine' on several occasions. Come to think of it, it the 'wine' came from those green bottles he kept in the refrigerator.
Janette also drank 'wine'. Now that he thought about it, many of the patrons of the Raven also drank 'wine'. Unusual for a tavern and nightclub to have that many wine drinkers. Most of the bars he had ever been in, the customers usually drank beer or whiskey, not wine.
Nicholas Forrester
That was the name on the New York Drivers License that he had found in the glove compartment of the Caddy. The picture was his. There was no question about that. It could have been taken yesterday, it was that good. The only thing was that the License had expired in 1963. According to the biography in his personnel file, he was born in 1958. He would have been 5 years old in 1963. An Uncle? Brother? Nah! The resemblance was too close.
Photos
Then there was the photo from the chest in Janette's storeroom. It showed three people, Janette, a guy that looked like that Nightcrawler, and him. They were all dressed in clothing from around the turn of the century. And from the condition of the photo, it looked like it had been taken at about the same time. Janette said that it was of their grandparents, but just like the Drivers License, the resemblance was a little too uncanny.
Then there was that 8 x 10 autographed glossy of The Nightcrawler. Both he and Janette had the same picture. That was another person that gave Schanke the willies. He listened almost religiously to The Nightcrawler's broadcasts every night. Why, he did not know. They were almost always filled with doom and gloom.
**********
He folded the paper and stuck it in his pocket.
Even if all of this was some kind of an impossible preposterous incredible coincidence, what about his superior strength and speed? How many times was he the first on the scene when a perp was attempting to escape? And how many times had he lifted seemingly heavy loads as if they were made of styrofoam?
He could have sworn that he had seen him take a bullet or two on several occasions, but he only laughed it off, saying that he had only been grazed or that they had gone through his clothing, not him. Truthfully, there was never any real evidence that he had been injured. No bleeding to amount to anything, no limping, or anything like that.
Add to that the fact that Dr. Lambert did all of his physical exams. He wouldn't even let any other doctor near him. That was really weird having a Coroner for a family physician. But then, she was a close friend. And he had vehemently refused to go to the hospital on more than one instance. And he was never sick more than a day or two at a time.
His relationship with the Coroner was another thing. They claimed to be nothing more than friends. According to both of them, their relationship was ... complicated. That was an understatement. Anyone with half a brain could see they were googley eyed in love.
He had thought he possibly might have seen him fly earlier tonight. Maybe. But that was too ridiculous to even think about. Then there was this thing about his eyes. Several times he had thought he had seen them glow, but it was usually only for an instant. It could have been just a trick of the light. Just like he said. But then again ...
Schanke shook his head. Something wasn't quite right.
When Vera stopped by to talk to him and saw what he was doing, the lightbulb went on in his head. She had hit the nail on the head, and all the reference books he got from the library only confirmed it. There was no question in his mind.
Nicholas B. Knight, his partner, was a vampire.
Now for the next step. What to do about it. First, he needed conclusive proof. He thought about going to The Nightcrawler, but rejected it. From his broadcasts, and from the limited contact he had with the man, he had the distinct impression he would tell him what he wanted him to know, not what Schanke needed to know. He needed straight answers, not smoke and mirrors.
There was only one way to get the truth. Go straight to the source.
**********
Nick Knight lay on the sofa, his arms crossed in front of him. There were still several hours until sunset. He had spent most of the day tossing and turning. It was only in the last two hours that he had fallen into the deep sleep that usually marked the daytime hours.
Last evening, his partner, Don Schanke, had to kill a suspect. It had set him off on a tangent. Nick had flown from the roof of the building just as the man took a bead on Schanke. This flushed the perp into the open and gave Schanke a clear shot. If he had not done what he did, Schanke would have been surely killed. Unfortunately, Schanke had seen him fly. He had hypnotized his partner into forgetting. At least he was positive he had. He had made a mental note to reinforce the 'suggestion' when he saw him tonight.
**********
Schanke punched in the access codes that Nick had given him several months ago. Sloppy! He should have changed those codes on a regular basis. But he didn't. Slowly, the ancient lift creaked to the ground floor. As the elevator wheezed its way to the top, Schanke said a small prayer of thanks that he hadn't. Schanke had stayed with him when he and Myra were separated for two weeks. He had tried to call him several times, but all he got was a busy signal. Maybe it was better this way. Maybe this was something that should be handled in person, not over the phone. He fingered the crucifix he had given Jenny for her First Communion in his coat pocket.
Gently, he pulled open the huge steel door that was the entrance to his partner's 'High Tech Dungeon of Doom' as Schanke called it. Even in the near total darkness, he could make out the figure of his partner on the couch. Beside him, the phone steadily beeped that high pitched tone that signaled that it was off the hook. He turned off the phone and gently replaced it on the cradle. That explained the busy signals. Taking a deep breath, he slowly tiptoed to him. Schanke shook his head. With the noise from the lift and the door and the phone, he should have been awake almost immediately. Yet he was sleeping the sleep of the dead. Schanke let a small smile creep across his face. If he was correct, his partner was dead. Or rather … undead.
The next part was going to be the hardest. If the books he had read were correct, waking a sleeping vampire was dangerous at best and could be fatal. He placed his hands over Nick's chest and took a deep breath. He pulled his hands back and wiped them on his trousers. Again he placed them over the chest. He closed his eyes and said a silent prayer to whatever gods watched over fools and little children. He wasn't a child, but right now he felt like an utter fool. If he was wrong, he'd be making an ass of himself in front of his partner and friend. If he was right ... he didn't even want to think of that.
Gingerly, he tapped his partner on the chest. "Nick?" He called. Then he took three quick steps back. That was all it took. Faster than Schanke could comprehend, Nick was before him. His eyes glowed orange and his canines were at least an inch long. The sound that he made was one that no being could make. At least no human being. It was somewhere between a banshee's screech and a lion's roar.
Schanke pulled out the cross and held it in front of him. "Nick! Nick! Get a grip!" He half shouted, half begged as he backpedaled toward the door. "It's me! Your partner. Schanke! Donald G. Schanke! Remember!"
Nick shook his head slowly. His eyes returned to their blue color and his fangs retracted. "Schanke?" He mumbled. "What are you doing here? Is there some kind of a problem?"
"NO! NO PROBLEM!" Schanke said, still keeping the cross between him and his partner. "Well, yes ... no ... that is ... I ... ah ..."
Nick homed in on his partner's heart. It was racing wildly. "Schanke." He said softly, never taking his eyes from the detective's. "You did not see what just happened. I awoke in a normal manner when you came in."
"Didn't see ... normal ... " Schanke said woodenly. Then he shook his head. "No. It wasn't normal. That's why I came here in the first place. You are ... that is ... you see … I ... I know what you are." Once again, he thrust the cross in Nick's face.
It took all the energy that Nick could muster not to cower before the crucifix. It was fairly obvious that Schanke did, indeed know what Nick was, but for his sake … for his very life … for both their lives … he could not let Schanke know that he was right.
"Schanke." He began again in that same silky voice as before. "Whatever you think you know, do not pursue it. For your own sake, let the matter drop. You are tired. Go home. Rest. We'll talk about this another time."
"Home … Rest. …" He shook his head again to clear it. " No you don't. It won't work this time. I know. It was all there. Everything. Why I didn't see it before now, I don't know. All the clues were right in front of me."
"What clues? What are you talking about? What do you think you know about me?"
"I'm talking about what you are. I know. You're a vampire." There. He had said it. For better or worse, he had labeled his partner as a creature of the night.
"There are no such things as vampires." Nick said, softly, slowly. "You know that as well as I do."
"No. It all fits too perfectly. The blood. The night. Never eating. The sun allergy. Everything. Look, I've known you what? Five years? Hell, Nick, we're partners for chrissake. I know you're not one of those evil blood sucking monsters they show in the movies. How many times have you saved my tush? Not to mention all the others you helped. You can't be an evil demon like they say in the books. You're one of the good guys." He lowered the cross and slipped it into his pocket.
Nick closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He knew his partner too well. He was too good a detective to let this slide. Whenever Donald G. Schanke latched onto something, he was like a hound dog that had treed a coon. He would not give up until he got answers. Perhaps it would be better if he heard it from him. Now. Before he went and poked his nose where he had no business being. If the Enforcers or LaCroix ... He shuddered to think what his creator would do if he ... Yes. It would be best if he were the one to tell him.
"You are right." He said barely above a whisper. "I am a vampire."
"Oh."
That was not the answer that Nick had expected. He had thought that Schanke would shout and do a victory dance like the athletes did when they scored. Instead, he just stood there looking sort of dumbfounded.
"Now what?"
"Well, since you know that much, Perhaps I had better tell you the rest of the story, as one of the radio reporters is fond of saying."
He spent the rest of the daylight hours explaining to him about himself, the Code, and the Enforcers.
" ... And that is why you must swear on all that you hold holy that you will never ... and I do mean NEVER ... tell anyone what you know. Ever. That includes Myra."
"Man-o-man. What did I just get myself into?" He took out a hankie and wiped his brow.
"I tried to warn you."
"I know. I wouldn't listen. I had to find out for myself. And now I have. Man-o-man." He raised his left hand and placed his right over his heart. "I ... Donald George Schanke ... do solemnly swear ... by all that I hold sacred ... that I will never reveal what I know ... to anyone ... Ever ... So help me God."
"Thanks, Schanke."
"No problem. That's what partners are for, after all." He thought a moment. "You know, I could act as another set of eyes and ears for the Community. You know, keep an eye out in the daytime? Maybe that will be enough to keep those Enforcer guys off my back, or more appropriately, off my neck." He smiled slightly at the pun.
"It just might do that."
"Are their others who know? Does Nat know?"
Nick did not answer, but the look on his face indicated that she knew.
"I thought so. I figured since you two were so close that she had to know everything about you. Is that the reason why you two haven't ... You know ... Gotten together yet?"
Nick only nodded sadly. "I know you have at least a thousand more questions, but I also know that you're tired almost to the point of exhaustion. It's your day off. Go home and get some sleep. We'll talk more about this tomorrow."
"Reading minds, are we? Is that one of your vampire abilities?"
Nick smiled. "No psychic powers are needed. It's the bags under your eyes."
"Okay, partner. You're right. See you tomorrow night." He headed to the lift. "Are you sure I can't tell Myra?"
"SCHANKE!"
**********
He pulled the Caddy in behind the row of cars. There had been another rape and murder. This was number three and they were no closer to solving them than with the first one. Except that they were all women, and they had all been brutally raped and tortured, there did not seem to be any connection. The semen samples were the same, that was what made them believe that this was the work of one man.
Julia Mercer, the first victim, was 30, black, married and the mother of three young children. She did not work outside the home. Her mutilated, naked body was found in a culvert beside Kingston Road near Glenn Stewart Park. She had been killed at least twenty four hours before. Her body was found by three boys playing in the park.
The second, Michelle Prater, was single and had turned 20 only two days before. An honors student at St. Mikes College, she was in her sophomore year, an exchange student from the States. She dated, but there was no one steady. Her nude body was found in a dumpster behind the Cloverdale Shopping Mall. She had been found by one of the employees who had taken out the trash. Like Mercer, she had been repeatedly raped and her torso and face were viciously slashed. She had been dead less than a day when she was found.
This one, victim number three, was the grisliest of all. Her stripped body was discovered propped up against a tombstone in Pine Hills Cemetery. She too had been brutally slashed and her blood splattered over a three foot radius. The caretaker had discovered it on his regular rounds.
As Nick approached the body, the victim's blood sang to him. Fresh blood always did. From the intensity, he doubted that she had been dead more than a few hours at most. He turned and closed his eyes tightly, willing his fangs not to drop. "You start interviewing the witnesses." He said to Schanke in a husky voice. "I forgot something back at the car."
"Like that thermos full of blood you keep under the front seat?" Schanke said as he followed his partner to the driveway.
"How … ?"
"I'm a detective, remember. I always suspected you kept a little liquid fortitude in there. I guess I wasn't that far wrong."
Nick reached under the seat and took the bottle. He unscrewed the cap and took several long swallows. He replaced the top and slid it back under the seat. Then he reached into the glove compartment and took out a sample sized bottle of mouthwash. He took some, swished it in his mouth and spit it out.
"The blood I can understand, but why the Listerine?"
"Natalie."
"I thought you said that she knew all about you."
"She does. I just don't want her to know how much I really drink. She has this theory that if she can get me off … it, she can reverse the … my condition."
"You don't have to worry, partner. I won't tell the good Coroner."
"Won't tell the good Coroner what?" Natalie came up behind them. Nick quickly slid the mouthwash bottle in his pocket.
"That I … ah … ah … ran a red light." Nick stammered.
"Yeah. He ran a red light." Schanke repeated. "At King and Yonge. He didn't want you to know that he broke the law."
"King and Yonge ... Right ... Nick, King and Yonge is in the heart of downtown. You would have had to go eight miles out of your way. Want to try again?"
"I … ah … What do you have on the victim?" He changed the subject.
Natalie consulted the notes on her clipboard. "According to her Drivers
License, her name is … was… Delores Shiningmoon. Age 31. Height 5'7. Weight
128. Death was the result of multiple stab and slash wounds to the head and
torso. Any one of them could have been the fatal one. She was also savagely
beaten. Repeatedly. Over several days. While I can't be one hundred percent
positive at this time, she was probably frequently raped, too. And here's the
kicker. There is solid evidence that she was alive when she was brought here.
Bound and gagged, but alive. Fresh rope burns on her hands and feet and marks
on her face where the gag was. TOD is within the last three hours. Rigor
mortis has only begun and the body is still reasonably warm. I'll have more
after the autopsy." She put the clipboard in her ever present black bag and
followed the gurney bearing the body to the waiting Coroner's van. "See
you back at the station." She called over her shoulder.
Schanke wiped his forehead. "Man, that was close. "I don't suppose you could use your … powers to solve this, could you?" He put his fingers to his upper teeth.
"SCHANKE! Have you forgotten everything we talked about? I can't take the chance of anybody finding out what I am. Even if I could, anything I find couldn't be used in a court of law.'
"I can understand why. 'I got this evidence, you honor, because I'm a vampire'. I guess that would be out of the question."
"Just a little. Besides, I couldn't really find out anything that couldn't be discovered by ordinary methods. Being a vampire is highly overrated."
"Well, then, let's get to work."
**********
"And just what is it that the good Coroner wasn't supposed to know?" Natalie Lambert stripped off her gloves and tossed them in the hazardous waste bin. "And don't give me that crap about running a red light." Her gown and cap went into a dirty linen container.
"All right. I suppose you'll find out sooner or later anyway. I was drinking blood. The sight and scent of all that blood was driving me full goose bozo. If I hadn't taken a drink at the scene, I don't know what would have happened."
"Drinking WHAT?" Natalie said with a mix of surprise and disappointment. "Nick, we've talked about this too many times. The blood is what keeps you from coming back across. As long as you keep drinking it like this, you'll never get off it. It's like an addict saying he'll only take one more fix just to take the edge off. It doesn't work that way. It's either all or nothing. You've got to make the decision. Do you want to be mortal or not? There's no middle ground."
"Nat. You know I want to be mortal more than anything else. I can't help it. The blood is more than a drug for me. It's my food. It's my life. Nothing can take its place. Your protein shakes don’t even come close. Even if I could keep them down."
"And that's why Schanke was lying for … WAIT A MINUTE! What was Schanke doing there while you were drinking blood?"
"He … knows." Nick said barely above a whisper.
"He knows? How? When?"
"He figured it out by himself. Right after the shooting two days ago. We spent most of yesterday talking about it. He seems able to handle it."
"How about you? Can you handle it? At times you seem really uncomfortable that even I know."
"I'll handle it."
"Handle what, Partner." Don Schanke said as he came into the morgue.
"The fact that you know about him." Nat said.
"Oh, that. Yeah. He told me all about the Code and the Enforcers. Scary bunch of bastards, ain't they. I swore to him that I won't say or do anything that'll get them involved. I swear the same thing to you."
"What about LaCroix?" Natalie asked.
"Leave him to me." Nick said. "I'll handle him, too. When the time comes."
"LaCroix. He's the one who ... brought you across, isn't he?" Don asked hesitantly.
Nick nodded.
"He's also The Nightcrawler."
Nick nodded again.
"Another scary bastard."
**********
"Secrets." The silky voice of The Nightcrawler wafted over the Toronto airwaves. "That is tonight's topic. We all have our secrets, don't we? I'm not talking about the little inconsequential ones such as we are an alcoholic, or that we have had a facelift, or that our hair color is not our own. No, Mes Amis, I am talking about those secrets that are so dark, so evil that they must be tightly locked into our being so as never to see the light. The ones that if they were to surface, could and would be the end of life as we know it. Do not try to deny that they exist, My Children. Every closet has its skeletons.
As much as we try to contain them, these self same malevolent facts cry out to be expressed. The more we try to bury them, the more they claw their way out. They scream at us from our very depths. They force their way into our dreams, turning them into nightmares. They eat at our subconscious, begging for release.
So, Dear Ones, what do you do with them? Do you keep them locked inside, to drive you slowly mad, or do you confide in someone? If you do decide to share your clandestine knowledge, whom do you tell? A friend? A confidant? A lover?
Will the person you tell keep your secret? Remember, you told someone, didn't you? The person you tell has no vested interest in your secret. It isn't their secret. They will not be directly affected by the consequences surrounding its discovery. And it will be discovered. Make no mistake about that, Mon Petit Enfants. After all, a secret that is known to two or more persons is no longer a secret.
So, My Little Ones, whom should you tell? I am the Nightcrawler. I will never betray you. Never."
Nick snapped off the radio.
"He knows, doesn't he?" Schanke said.
Nick only nodded. "Now the question is what penalty will he extract."
"Don't worry, Nick. I'll be there when you talk to him. After all, this involves me, too. I'll tell him it was all my doing. He'll understand."
"No you won't. That's the last thing you want to do. Or it may be the last thing you will ever do. Right now he's very ticked off. He definitely won't understand. There's no telling what he will do."
"I don't know. He sounded pretty cool just now."
"He's the consummate actor. Trust me. I've known him a lot longer than you ever will. You don't want to tangle with him in the mood he's in. Leave him to me. I said I'd handle him. I just didn't think it would be this soon."
**********
He was waiting as Nick pulled into the garage. And he was not a happy vampire. He could feel the waves of anger emanating from his sire from at least a block away. There would be no talk. Only action. Painful action, he was certain. It would not be pleasant. It never was.
The enraged aura grew stronger as he rode the lift. His every instinct told him to run, but he knew LaCroix well enough to know there was no place to run to. LaCroix would find him wherever he went. Better to get it over with. Now. Later would be that much more severe.
Even before he had the heavy door fully open, he was grabbed. His master flung him against the door. He felt the ribs cracking and heard rather than felt his head collide with the cold steel plate. A warm wet liquid flowed down his back. Blood. The door handle ground itself against the base of his spine.
"HOW did YOU let this happen?" LaCroix hissed. "Why did you let HIM find out?" He viciously cuffed his son across the face. Nick felt his jaw dislocate. Several teeth were also loosened.
"I didn't … " He said through bloody puffed lips.
"No, you DIDN'T. You NEVER do ... ANYTHING. You didn't THINK. You didn't DO. You just … " He drove his fist into the detective's midsection. More bones broke and Nick spat blood as he doubled over.
"He … found out … by himself." He croaked hoarsely.
LaCroix backhanded him savagely. His left cheekbone broke and the sight in his left eye was beginning to blur.
"That is NO excuse. YOU know what you were SUPPOSED to be do. You did … NOTHING." The elder vampire threw him hard to the floor. A snapping sound told him that his right arm was broken.
"When will you EVER learn to do the right thing?" LaCroix hissed as he drove his foot into the hapless vampire's kidneys.
"Will … you … Enforcers." He mumbled. It was difficult to think clearly. He probably had a concussion from the blow to his head.
"No. I will NOT inform the Enforcers. This is a FAMILY matter. You KNOW I put family above ALL ELSE. You have THREE DAYS to correct this … situation. Or I WILL. THREE DAYS!" In the next instant, he disappeared.
With great difficulty, Nick managed to get to a standing position. The pain in his lower back was excruciating and his legs would not respond properly. Slowly, painfully, holding on to the furniture for support, he made his way to the refrigerator. Even though it was bovine, the blood stored in there called to him. He had to heal. It would heal him. Slowly, but it would have to do. It was all he had on hand. He had given up human blood almost a century before. He took out a bottle and uncorked it. Leaning against the counter, he gulped down the contents in three swallows. He could feel his injuries ever so slowly repairing themselves. He reached for another bottle.
"You do not need that … swill, Cherie." Janette said, reaching into a large bag hanging from her arm. He had not heard her come in, but in his present state, a freight train could have passed through the loft and he would not have noticed it. "This is what you need." She held out a bottle of Raven Special.
"You of all people should know that I don't drink human."
"I know you don't under normal circumstances. But this isn't normal. You need it." She said. "He has injured you very badly. This is uncut. It will heal you much faster than that bovine slop ever could." She gently helped him to the table and eased him into a chair.
He took the bottle and opened it. He drank slowly this time. The human blood sang to him in a way that the bland cow's blood never could or would. He could tell that his body was knitting faster now. He finished the bottle and handed it back. Janette held out another one.
"No thank you. One is enough."
She said nothing, only put it back in the bag.
"How did you know?" Nick asked.
"Oh, Nicholah, how can you possibly forget? We are bonded. Sister and brother for all eternity … and we are so much more. Why didn't you do what had to be done with your partner? Why must you continually anger him so? The next time he may not be so tolerant."
"This is tolerance?" He fingered the rapidly healing bruises on his face.
"For him ... Yes." Janette kissed him gently on the cheek. "Take care, Mon Amour. I would hate to lose you." With a whoosh of air, she was gone.
**********
He had called and booked off. Personal day. He gave no other explanation. Captain Cohen was only too happy to grant it to him. After all, she had been after him to take a little time off. His injuries were mostly healed. The broken bones had knit, and only a few of the worst bruises remained, but he was still in a lot of pain from his internal injuries. He did not want to face either Schanke or Nat right now. Nat would be mothering him constantly. Not that he would mind the TLC, he just did not trust his fragile control around her until he was stronger. Schanke, if he knew what had happened, would go storming off to confront LaCroix. He would probably get himself killed in the process.
He sensed them long before he saw them. There was no mistaking that forceful aura. That was all he needed right now. First LaCroix and now this. They were two of the most powerful Enforcers he had ever come across. Between them, supported by them, was Donald Schanke. He had a blank glassy eyed look about him and his movements were sluggish and irregular. It was obvious that he had been placed in some kind of a trance. That was somewhat of a blessing. At least he wouldn't suffer. Much. It was probable that this was to be his punishment for violating the Code. He was to watch his partner die at the hands of the Enforcers. Before they killed him.
But how did they get here so fast? LaCroix had promised him three days. He was capable of many things, but once he had given his word, he would not go back on it. No one else that he knew had the kind of influence to summon the Enforcers this quickly.
"Nicholas de Brabant." One of the Enforcers, a black man of undeterminable age said. He was well over six feet tall and about 275-300 pounds of lean muscle. He exuded raw power. Even if he were mortal, Nick would not want to tangle with him. "It has come to our attention that this mortal has discovered your secret." He tossed Schanke to the floor like he was a rag doll.
"The Ruling Council has been keeping a close watch on you and your associates for some time now." The other, a man of either Arabic or Semitic descent, added. He was only slightly smaller than his companion. Nick did not particularly want to get on his bad side either. "We have been sent to investigate this matter and report back to them."
Investigate … Report … Not terminate. Perhaps, just maybe, if they were willing to listen to reason, there was a slim chance that this could be settled without bloodshed. Either his or Schanke's.
"That's correct. Don Schanke does know about me." There was no use trying to lie about it. They obviously already knew. "I tried, but I could not make him forget. He has become a resistor. I did not kill him or bring him across because I do not believe that he is a threat to the Community. In fact, I think he could be very useful to us."
"Why should we believe that?" The Black Enforcer asked.
"I trust him implicitly. He has given his word, and I believe him. He has also volunteered to be the eyes and ears of the Community in places where we cannot go. Such as into the daytime sun. He is also my partner. Partners have to trust each other. That trust could be the difference between life and death during a shootout or in dangerous situations. If you have questioned him, then you know that he is an honorable man. He would not go back on his word. I will take full responsibility for him. If he should break the Code, I will see to it that he is properly punished."
"Make us believe you." The Middle Eastern Enforcer said.
Nick unbuttoned his cuff and held his wrist to the Enforcer.
The man took it. Nick winced as he rather forcefully sank his fangs into the tender flesh. He suckled the blood as it welled to the surface. Then he handed Nick's arm to his companion who did the same. This done, they withdrew to the far side of the loft. There they held a hushed conference. Even with his enhanced hearing, Nick could not tell what they were saying. He wasn't sure that he really wanted to, either. Finally, they returned to him.
"We have questioned this mortal earlier." The black one said. Nick studied his partner. Sure enough there were two tiny, nearly healed puncture marks at the base of his neck. "From what we learned from him and what we have learned from your blood, we believe what you have said is true. We will be watching this situation closely. See to it that you keep what you have promised."
In less than a blink of an eye, they were gone.
In another instant, Nick was at his partner's side. He cradled his head in his hands.
Slowly, groggily, he opened his eyes and sluggishly shook his head. "Oh Man-o-man. What a dream I just had ..." He looked around, puzzled. "WAIT A MINUTE! What am I doing in your loft? The last thing I remember I was lying on the couch waiting for Myra to come home from one of her Skin Pretty Home Party demonstrations. I must have fallen asleep because I had this weird dream where these two guys came in and they ... "
"Schanke. It wasn't a dream."
**********
Schanke slammed the folder on his desk. "This case is getting weirder and weirder by the minute." He fumed. "There's got to be a tie. But where?"
"Let's review what we have." Nick said.
We have nada." They obviously aren't the same race. Religion is out, too. Julia Mercer was a Catholic. Michelle Prater, Baptist, and Delores Shiningmoon no particular religious affiliation. They didn't live in the same neighborhood. They didn't have any friends in common that we can find. Hell, they didn't even eat at the same fast food joints.
"What about ancillary items?"
"Like?"
"Pets maybe? "
Schanke shook his head. He pulled out his notebook and leafed through it. "Thought of that already. Julia Mercer had two dogs. Prater had a parakeet and Delores Shiningmoon, none. Apparently she was allergic to animal fur.
"Cars?" "Grocery stores?" " I'll even take makeup" "There's got to be something."
At each, Schanke shook his head no.
"How would you guys like a hook." Natalie came up behind them and laid a paper on the desk.
"You got a clue?" Schanke grabbed her and planted a wet sloppy kiss on her forehead. "Natalie Lambert, I love you. If I weren't a happily married man, I'd marry you. Then again, maybe I should leave that to my partner … Oh no." He said, blushing. "I forgot about … that. I'm sorry."
"It's okay." Nat said. "We understand."
A look of great sadness and pain came over Nick. "Yeah … we understand." Then, as his happy mask locked into place, he continued. "So, Nat, what's this clue that you've got."
"Well, it may not be much. I didn't even catch it until I started brainstorming with Grace, much like you two are doing now."
"AND … " They both said in unison.
"And I remembered that Julia Mercer had traces of recombinant human insulin in her blood stream. It didn't mean anything at the time. Then I found the same thing in Delores Shiningmoon. Since Dr. Kerstein did the autopsy on Julia Mercer on day shift, I went over his notes this evening. Guess what. She had it too."
"Isn't insulin supposed to be in the blood?"
"Recombinant human insulin is the generic term for insulin manufactured outside the body. It's either cultured or refined from sheep insulin. It is the treatment of choice for Type II diabetics. It's most commonly prescribed under the brand name U-100."
"Then all we have to do is find out where they might have gotten the insulin and who has a common thread with them. We would have to get the names of every one who got a prescription for U-100 in the last several months." Schanke said.
"As I said before, it's the drug of choice. There's probably 500-600 prescriptions filled each month, and that's just in Toronto proper." Nat reminded them.
"I know it's like finding a needle in a haystack, but we could check out doctors and clinics, Pharmacies, support groups." Nick added. "If we can find one that involves all the victims and the same man, we just might have our killer. We've solved other cases with less than this. We can solve this one. I'll talk to Cohen and see if we can't spread this out to all the precincts. Schanke, you can coordinate things with days."
"Why me? Why can't you?"
Nick let his fangs drop and his eyes yellow for a few seconds.
"Oh, yeah. I forgot. Your ... ah ... sun allergy."
**********
As Schanke left the drugstore, he put a checkmark beside the name. < Seven down and only fifty three more drug stores to go. >
If the rest of them were like the ones he had already visited, he'd have five to six hundred names all by himself. Unfortunately, there was still no tie in with the victims. If the other cops on the detail did as well as he had, it would take well into the next year just to check all the names out. < Why does my dear …partner have all the luck. He gets out of these things because he has this supposed allergy. Just once, I'd like to see him do some of the sniffing for a change. > He climbed into his car and started it. "Maybe I'll just kill him." He mumbled as he put it into gear. < But then again, he's already dead. >
He heaved a sigh and headed toward the next name on his list. If only his partner could go out in the sun. He toyed with the idea of dragging him out anyway.
**********
Schanke plopped into his chair. A week of flatfooting around town by a score of officers had turned up a blank wall. He hoped his partner would be suitably appreciative. Like working for him next Saturday so he could go to Jenny's piano recital.
"Any luck?" Nick asked, although from the look on Don's face it was clear that any luck was the negative kind.
"Do you know how many pharmacies there are in Toronto? Be sure to include the ones that are inside supermarkets and department stores." Schanke said dejectedly. "You don't want to know. We hit every one of them and nada. Well, not exactly nada. Phil Sheridan over at Castle Frank did find one that had filled a prescription for U-100 for Michelle Prater. But that was over six months ago. They didn't have either of the other two on their database. We did get a doctor's name, though."
"Did you check it out?"
"Waddya think I am? A complete dodo." Schanke said, his face reddening slightly. "Of course I checked it out. He doesn't have any idea where she got her medications from. And no, Mercer and Shiningmoon aren't patients of his either. I asked."
"You don't have to get hostile about it." Nick said softly.
"I'm sorry. It's just that this whole case has me buffaloed. I guess part of it is because Myra's cousin Thelma is a diabetic. I keep thinking what if she's next."
"Why don't we go and talk to Lionel Mercer, Julia's husband. Now that we have this new bit of information, maybe he might be able to help us."
**********
**********
"Well, that was a waste of time." Schanke said. "We spent all night going over the facts and we're no further along than when we started. We know they all used the Internet to get their U-100, but each one used a different service. Still no connection. We're right back to square one."
"Not exactly square one. Maybe square two." Nat said. She had stopped to drop off some files about a case to Coplas and Davis. By some strange twist of fate, she somehow found herself at the desk of a certain blond detective and his partner. "At least we have a starting point."
"But where is it that we're starting from?" Schanke asked.
"The beginning." Nick said. "We contact these companies and see if they have anything in common. Who knows, we may get lucky."
"And that's your job." Schanke said, pushing the papers with the information about the online companies at Nick. "After all, you don't have to go outside to operate a computer. And since you just volunteered to cover for me on tomorrow, I'll be at a piano recital."
"I volunteered to cover for you tomorrow?"
"How else are you going to track down the information you need unless you're here at the precinct? See you guys later. Hasta la bye bye." He walked toward the door. " ... And that's when I'll discover that revenge is sweet ... " He sang softly. As he pulled it open, he did a small victory dance.
**********
Angie Grocemann took the package from the driver. This was so much easier than going to the pharmacist. Ever since she had heard that Freedom Online Pharmaceuticals would deliver her diabetic supplies right to her door, she had subscribed with them. They billed the insurance and even paid the shipping and handling fees. All she had to do was tell them, either by phone or online, when she was running low and EPS delivered the things she needed within three days.
The driver copied the name and address from his copy of the invoice. This one would bear watching.
**********
Nick stared at the paper in his hand. Some minor god must have taken a liking to him. Two of the names on the list were on Route 39. Grocemann and Mercer. They each had deliveries from the pharmaceutical houses about a week before their deaths. The other two, Prater and Shiningmoon were both on Route 56. According to the dispatcher, Elwood Perkins was covering that route at the time of the victim's deaths. They, too were killed within a week of receiving an insulin delivery.
Nick gave a slight grin. "YESS!" He said under his breath.
**********
"You know he's lying through his teeth." Schanke said as he buckled his seatbelt. "He's hiding something as sure as I like donuts. And I don't even need … you know … special powers to tell that."
"I don't need them either. And you're right. He isn't telling everything. What do you say we get a search warrant and come back and have another little 'talk' with him."
"Then why are we sitting here?"
Nick put the Caddy in gear and pulled out in the night traffic
**********
Nick put the Forensics report on the Naherer shooting in his pocket. Compared to the Insulin Killings, this one was a piece of cake. The two men had been adversaries for many years. They were drunk and had argued. Over a woman. In the ensuing melee, Mike Westerman pulled a gun and shot Thomas Nahrer three times point blank. There were a dozen witnesses, give or take a few. The only question was the degree of the charge. Westerman was sincerely sorry and was cooperating as far as possible with the police. The Crown Prosecutor, and everyone else seemed to think he would be tried for first degree manslaughter.
By some mysterious set of coincidences, he found himself in the basement of the building where, it just so happened, the morgue and Coroner's offices were located. Since he was this far, it would be rude not to pay a call on the pretty ME.
Natalie stared intently at the liver on the tray. With the way that this organ had deteriorated, it was a wonder that the woman had lived this long. Years of alcohol, drug abuse and malnutrition had left the liver bloated and misshapen. Although all the evidence so far pointed to the fact that Madeline Cartwright had died of natural causes, Nat was positive the drinking and drugs had played a large part in the woman's death. Still, there was no evidence of foul play.
She jumped as Nick put his hands on her shoulders. "Boo." He whispered in her ear.
"Don't EVER do that again!' She rebuked. "You nearly made me contaminate a piece of evidence.
"Sorry." He said. "You just looked so intense. I'll be a good boy. If … "
"If what?"
"If you'll come up to the loft after shift and watch movies with me. I've got this great Bogart tape and I … "
"BOGART!" Nat squealed. "Now you just made me an offer I can't refuse." She said in her best Godfather voice.
"Wrong movie." He was rewarded with a wad of paper towel being thrown at him.
"Just be glad I didn't throw thie liver."
"Bad Coroner. Just for that, no cookies. See you about eight, then?"
"Eight it is. Now, let me get back to Mrs. Cartwright, or I'll have to bring her along with me." She looked around. Nick was gone.
**********
"What do you mean we can't get a search warrant?" Don Schanke said. "We believe that this Elwood Perkins is the Insulin killer. And I know that we can find enough evidence in his house to convict him hands down."
"I'm afraid that's not enough to convince Judge Barnett. He wants something solid." Captain Cohen said. "I want him caught as much as you do, but convincing Barnett is another matter. He's a stickler for the letter of the law and without ... how did he put it ... empirical evidence ..." She raised her arms in surrender. " ... As my honorable grandfather used to say, no tickee no washee."
"Oh. That's just great!" Schanke argued. "Everyone wants him caught, but when push comes to shove, nobody wants to lift a finger. What will it take? Sworn and notarized testimony by the pope that he saw Perkins actually killing the victims?" He slammed the door much harder than necessary as he stormed out of the office.
"So, partner, what do we do now?" He asked as he plopped down at his desk. "I know in my heart of hearts that Perkins is the killer, and so do you. But gut instinct is not enough for the judicial system."
"Maybe there is something we can do." Nick said. "You said that your cousin is a diabetic?"
"What do you mean?" Then, as if a light came on in his head. "No ... No way. You're not going to use Thelma as bait. I won't allow you. Besides, Myra'd kill me if anything happened to her."
"I wouldn't think of using Thelma, just her name. And she does live on Route 39. What we can do is ... " He cupped his hand over his partner's ear and roughed out his plan.
**********
"You two are out of your tiny little minds! Both of you!" Natalie Lambert shouted at the two detectives standing in the middle of the autopsy room. "You can't be serious."
"Think about it, Nat. It makes perfect sense." Nick said. "I mean, you know this case, and you are a doctor after all, so you would know something about what to look for. Plus, Schanke or I will be with you every step of the way."
"What makes you think he'll strike again? I mean, now that he knows you're on to him, he'll probably stop."
"I don't think so. My first reaction says he isn't being rational about this." Schanke said.
"Schanke's right." Nick added. "From what I could tell, he doesn't realize he's doing anything wrong, so he'll most likely keep on doing it until he's stopped."
"That's where you come in." Schanke explained. "If we can get him to go after you, we can stop him."
"Well ... I ... "
Nick planted a resounding kiss on one cheek while his partner did the same with the opposite. "Don't worry, Nat. You won't be in any danger. We won't let anything happen to you."
"Famous Last Words."
**********
Thelma Griffith paced the floor. Her house was a homey somewhat nondescript dwelling in the same general area as the Mercers. She was a petite woman, nicely built, but not stunning in the physical sense. She had auburn hair and the same hazel eyes as Nat. Yes, Nat could easily impersonate her.
She looked at her cousin and his partner. "Of course I'll be glad to help, Donny. I've been reading about the killings. I'm so sorry for the victims and their families. Of course, I'm scared too. After all, I'm a Type II diabetic. Who knows, I might be next." She paused and a sad look came into her eyes. "I knew Julie Mercer. She and Lee go to my church. I mean, she went to our church. I even went to the funeral. She was a good woman. I want her killer caught. What do I do?"
"Actually, Thel, you do nothing except go on a vacation." Don said. "I know for a fact that you haven't had a real vacation in over three years. All we really need is your name and your house. We'll do the rest. We have an undercover person who will impersonate you and we are going to use her as bait to draw the killer out."
"You pick the place, The department will cover the costs." Nick said.
"But my job ... "
"Don't worry, we'll square it with your boss." Nick added. "Now, why don't you pack while we make the arrangements? Where would you like to go?"
"Well, since it's all expenses, what about Aruba?"
Nick swallowed hard. This was going to cost a chunk, but if it helped to catch the killer ... "Okay, Aruba it is." He picked up the phone.
"Aruba?" Schanke said as his cousin went upstairs to pack. "You know as well as I do that the accounting department is going to blow a gasket. They'll never spring for something like that. They might go for Moose Jaw, maybe. But Aruba …?" He shook his head.
"Who said anything about the department?" Nick said with a sly grin.
"Then who ... No. You can't ... You're not going to ... "
"Why not. I can afford it and your cousin seems like a nice lady. Call it a reward for her cooperation."
"If I cooperate, will you send Myra and me to Aruba, too?" He was answered by his partner's notebook hitting him in the shoulder.
**********
**********
Nick stood dumbfounded at the sight before him. There, covering an area of at least several acres was the remains of Royal Aviation flight 355. Toronto to Vancouver. Somewhere in the mass of tangled bodies and body parts was Amanda Cohen, his Captain and Donald Schanke, his partner. Don had returned from Aruba only days before, and now ... He shut his eyes and let the scene play in his mind once again.
**********
"Look, partner. There's no way you are going to Vancouver." Schanke was saying. "First of all, the plane will be landing in the daylight, and from what I understand, Vancouver doesn't have covered walkways on all their portals yet. Second, you know as sure as I’m sitting here, we're going to have to testify at the trial. I doubt if the judges out there will be as understanding as some of the judges here about an evening trial. Since I know all about the case too, it's only logical that I accompany Captain Cohen when we take Dollard back. Period. End of sentence. Bottom line. No further discussion on the matter."
"But Schanke ..."
"I said I was going. Case closed. Fini. Cohen already has the tickets in my name." He pulled an envelope from his pocket and patted it. "Besides, she has already notified Provincial in BC that we will be accompanying the prisoner. You couldn't go now even if you wanted to. Which you just said you do. Sorry about that, Pard. Hasta la bye bye. See you when I get back. "
**********
< Now he won't ever be coming back. > Nick thought as a lump formed in his throat. He wanted to hurt someone … or something … bad ... very bad. If he had only insisted more strongly, it would have been him on the plane instead of Don. He would have survived the explosion and crash. They did not. He closed his eyes tightly and fought the vampire back.
"Nick ... " Tracy Vetter, his temporary partner said. She had her hand on his sleeve. "One of the rescue workers has just found a body they believe is Captain Cohen's. She was in one of the middle seats and she was pretty much intact. Dollard had the window seat, and they think he was blown out on impact. They did find his right arm still attached to the handcuff around her wrist."
"Schanke?" Nick asked. His voice almost breaking.
Tracy shook her head "Nothing yet. But there are so many bodies that they haven't identified."
Natalie came to them. Even though the explosion had taken place only a little over two hours ago, she was already near exhaustion. Her face showed the strain. Her lab coat was covered with dirt, grease, blood and other things Nick didn't want to think about. "Most of what they have found so far are only arms and legs and other body pieces. I have a feeling that most of the passengers will have to wait for dental and or DNA matches. Some of them may never be identified. We've set up a temporary morgue in a warehouse near here. Maybe we'll be able to sort things out a little better when we get everything in there."
"I know, Nat. I just keep hoping. One way or another, there should be a closure. For Myra's and Jenny's sake." Nick put his arms around Nat and held her tightly.
"And for you." She gently wiped a tear from his eyes. He did the same to her tears.
Nick nodded softly. "And for me." He said barely above a whisper.
"I don't hold out too much hope." Nat said, her voice cracking. "So far, there are no signs of life."
Just then, one of the officers from the crowd detail came up to him. "Hey, Knight. You got your cell phone on? I just got a call from the dispatcher. Somebody's been trying to reach you. Whoever it is called Central and told them to call one of us and tell you to turn it on."
Nick reached into his pocket. Sure enough, his cell phone was off. He and Tracy had been on a routine patrol when they heard the explosion and saw the ball of flame envelope the aircraft. He had mechanically turned it off when they first spotted the flaming wreckage hurtling to the ground. He did not want to be interrupted.
He turned it on and almost immediately, it began ringing. He pushed the talk button and put it to his ear. "Knight here."
"Nick! Where on God's green earth have you been? I've been trying to get hold of you for the last hour and a half."
Nick's mouth dropped as he heard the voice on the other end of the line. It can't be. Impossible. But it was. He'd know that voice anywhere.
"Hey, Nick. Buddy. Partner. Don't you ever turn your cell phone on? That's why Cohen gave them to us. So people could get hold of us in an emergency. That's what this is. An emergency. I'm at the Procare Garage on Miller Road. Can you come and get me? I'll explain everything when you arrive ... Nick? ... Nick?"
***********
Nick broke nearly every speed law there was and severely bent the rest as he headed from the crash site. He had thought about taking to the air, but with all of the people and the helicopters and other aircraft in the area, that was not the best of ideas. Miller Road was about twenty minutes away. They were the longest twenty minutes he had spent in all of his 800 years.
**********
Tracy gingerly stepped over the bodies as she sought out Joe Reese, the acting Captain of the 96th precinct. Although Nick had not said anything to her as he took off in what appeared to be a blur, she felt that she had better inform her superior officer that he had left. She thought about what to tell him. 'Following a lead' seemed to be as good an explanation as any. As she passed the body of a dark haired young man, she screamed. She could have sworn he opened his eyes and looked right at her. "Over here!" She frantically yelled, waving her arms for attention. "This one's still alive. Over here! Hurry!" She looked down again at the 'victim', only this time there was no one there. "Ohmigawd!" She mumbled. She felt lightheaded and her knees buckled as the blackness surrounded her.
**********
Nick pulled into the garage lot and was out of the Caddy even before the engine stopped. "SCHANKE! SCHANKE!" He frantically called. "Where are you?"
Don Schanke came out of the waiting room area munching on a cruller. "Over here, Nick. It's about time you got here."
Nick grabbed his partner and hugged him tightly. Don wheezed as Nick's arms began to constrict his chest.
"Go easy there, Nick, before you break a rib or something. Remember, I'm just a poor old mortal. I'm not invulnerable like you." Schanke said as he extricated himself. "Man o man! That's some kind of a welcome. Maybe I should get stranded more often."
"Schanke … " Nick interrupted.
"Boy am I ever glad to see you! The old clunker broke down about six miles from here. Right in the middle of the Don Parkway. Six miles from nowhere." Don continued without seeming to hear his partner. "Wouldn't you know it, nobody would even stop and give me a hand. Looks like a busted radiator hose to me. Water, water everywhere. Called the Auto Club and they said it would be at a couple of hours before they could get to me. Something about a disaster over in Grenadier Heights."
"Schanke! ... " Nick was more insistent.
"Look, I know I missed the plane, but if you can get me to the airport, I might be able to catch the red eye to Vancouver. In that case, maybe Cohen will have me directing rush hour traffic on the QEW for only six or seven months instead of forever." He picked up his suitcase and started to the Caddy. "Well, are you coming or do I have to walk to the airport?"
"You don't know, do you, Schanke?"
"Know what? I've been sitting on the parkway for almost an hour and then in here for the past hour and a half. By the time the tow truck got here, they were getting ready to close. The manager said I could wait for you in his office." He held up a cooler bag. "It's a good thing Myra packed a little something to tide me over until we … "
Schanke … " Nick said softly. "That disaster they were talking about was a plane crash. Royal Aviation Flight 355 exploded. No survivors."
"Plane ... Crashed ... No survivors … " Don's face became paler than his partner's. "You're sure."
Nick nodded imperceptibly.
"Cohen?"
"They've possibly identified her body. And part of Dollard's."
"Oh ... Jeez ... " Schanke shook his head slowly. He crossed himself. Nick was surprised that he did not flinch as he did that. "Eternal rest grant unto them ... " Don intoned.
"Now, we'd better get over there and see what we can do to help." Nick said as he picked up the rest of Don's things and headed for the Caddy.
*********
Natalie looked around the impromptu morgue. Fortunately, they had called in every off duty coroner. Once the word had gotten out, many of the physicians, as well as a few of the undertakers in the area volunteered their assistance as well. Still, sorting the growing mass of parts into identifiable bodies was going to be a nearly impossible job. So far, the only survivor anyone had found was an eight to ten month old baby girl. Miraculously, except for a few minor cuts and bruises, she appeared to be in good health. The medics had taken her to Children's Hospital for a complete checkup. At the crash site, the search had unofficially shifted from search and rescue to search and recovery.
Nick came up behind her. Thankfully, he had the good sense to make some noise this time. She doubted if she could have survived being frightened right now. She was afraid enough as it is.
"Need some help?" He asked. "I brought a friend." He pointed to the figure standing in the doorway.
Natalie stifled a small scream. < It can't be! One of the coroners had tentatively identified one of the bodies as his. It must be a hallucination. >
"You're not seeing things." Don Schanke said as the Coroner hugged him tightly. "It's me in the rotund robust flesh." He and Nick filled her in on the details. " … And to think, if it weren't for that busted radiator hose, I would have been be lying here with all the others." He pointed to a row of zippered body bags.
"For the record, Detective Schanke." Nat said in her best professional voice. Unfortunately, it did little to hide the emotion lying just beneath the surface. "We need an identification of Amanda Cohen's body. Do you think you're up to it?"
"What about her family?"
"They're in shock. Martin's doctor didn't think it would be a good thing for him to come down here at this time. He'll make the formal identification tomorrow morning. For now, though, we need an official ID so we can close her file."
Don nodded. Nat pulled open the body bag. "That's Amanda Cohen all right." He said in a cracking whisper. His face drained of all its color. "Oh man o man … " His legs turned to rubber and the ground came to meet him.
**********
Don Schanke opened his eyes. This didn't look like the plane. In fact, it looked like his partner's … loft? < What am I doing here? I'm supposed to be on my way to Vancouver with Captain Cohen and … > He groaned as he lay back on the couch. The events of the previous evening flooded back. The radiator ... The crash ... Seeing Cohen's body. He had passed out. A hand stroked his head. He turned to it and then grabbed tightly to her.
Myra Schanke held her husband as the tears streamed down her face. "Oh, Donny! I couldn't believe it when they told me that you were dead. Something inside of me said you were still alive. I know I would have felt it if you weren't. Then, when Nick called, I rushed right over here."
"But how did I get here?"
"Simple." His partner said as he stepped into Don's line of sight. "I brought you here. By the time Nat had made sure there was nothing physically wrong with you, it was almost daylight and with my ..." He cleared his throat loudly. " ... sun allergy ... there wasn't time to take you to your house. I called Myra. She and Jenny arrived a few minutes ago."
Just then, a nine year old whirlwind that was named Jenny Schanke ran into her father's arms. "Daddy!" She cried, hugging him tightly. "I'm so glad you're here. First, Officer Miller came to the house and said you were dead, but Mommy and I didn't believe him. Then, when Uncle Nick called, we knew you were okay. Did you know that he has a forty two inch HD television screen? And a totally awesome eight speaker Dolby stereo surround sound CD system?"
Don Schanke hugged his daughter and his wife tightly. "Yes, honey, I know. And I think that Uncle Nick could use some rest right about now. So could I. Why don't we head for home and let him get some sleep."
**********
Tracy slowly became aware that the world was coming into focus once more. She was sitting in the passenger seat of her car. She looked at the driver. It was the 'dead' man she had seen at the crash. Only this time he was very much alive and … although somewhat bloody … well.
"Good. You're awake." He said.
"Who … the hell … are you?"
"Javier Vachon. At your service." He made an exaggerated bow toward her. "And you are Detective Tracy Vetter, Metro police. I checked your ID."
"Then you know why you are going to drive us both downtown."
"I don't think so."
"What did you say?"
"I said no." Vachon caught her heartbeat. His voice became low and soft. "First we are going to the Salvation Army so I can get a change of clothes and then we are going to your house so I can clean up. Then we are going to say Buenos Noches and you will forget you ever saw me."
Tracy shook her head. There was a strange buzzing sensation in her mind. She had felt the same thing a couple of years ago when a theatrical hypnotist had tried to put her under. It didn't work then and it wasn't working now. "Bullshit. First you were dead and then you were missing from the scene of the crash and now you're alive and driving my car. And you really think I'm going to forget that? You've got to be dumber than you look. Now I'm going to tell you. WE are going to the Precinct." Her voice had a very determined tone. "NOW!"
< Oh no. Just my luck. A resister. > Vachon shook his head. "What if I tell you everything I know about the crash. Then will you do as I ask?"
**********
The reception that Schanke received at the precinct was nothing less than a full blown party. Complete with banners and a cake. The only one not fully participating was his partner.
Nick sat in the corner running and rerunning a tape of the last transmission between the crew of Flight 355 and the control tower. Just before the explosion there were faint tinny, tinkling sounds in the background. They sounded vaguely familiar.
"All right, boys and girls." Joe Reese said as he came out of the Captain's office. "I know we're all glad to see that Detective Schanke is alive and well, but this is a police station, not a party house. We have a bomber loose out there. Let's get on the stick and find him. Chop. Chop."
As he went back into the office, Nick stiffened and focused his sensitive hearing. It was the almost imperceptible sound of a music box. He followed the new Captain. "What's that?" He asked as Reese opened the box of chocolates on his desk.
"It's from Commissioner Vetter. Tracy's father." He said as he reached for a piece. "It's to congratulate me on my promotion … Although I'd have rather gotten my command in a different way."
Faster than anyone could follow, Nick's hand was on top of the Captain's. "Get out of here!" He ordered. "And evacuate the building. This is a bomb."
"How can you be sure?"
"I recognized the sounds I heard on the tapes from the plane as music. The same music that is coming from this box."
"It could be a coincidence."
"And if it's not, you're all going to be blown to Kingdom Come as soon as I lift my hand."
"And you?"
Nick concentrated on Reese's heartbeat. "NOW!"
As Reese left, Schanke came in. "What's up, partner?"
"A bomb. Get out of here. Now."
"What about you?"
"This is something I have to do. You have a wife and a kid. I think you understand, don't you? I could survive this. You and the others don't have a prayer in hell." His eyes were a red-orange and his voice had taken on a hypnotic tone. "NOW ... GET ... OUT!"
Schanke and the others assembled a safe distance from the building. As soon as he was certain everyone was safely out, Nick lifted his hand. He dove out of the window at the same instant as an orange fireball enveloped the office.
Nat pulled up in the front of the precinct. She was out of the car almost before it stopped. Schanke grabbed her and pulled her behind the corner of the building
"What is it? What the hell's going on in there?" Natalie cried as he pushed her down behind a parked car.
"There's a bomb in there. Nick's got it in Reese's office."
Natalie attempted to rise, but Schanke held her tightly.
"Nick! Nick!" She yelled. "We can't just leave him in … "
Just then, there was a huge fireball. Seconds into eternity later, Nick staggered out of the flames and into Nat's waiting arms.
**********
Tracy parked her car in front of the abandoned church. This is where Vachon told her he was staying, but it didn't seem possible. A vampire living in a church? He had told her everything. Who he was and what he was. At first, she didn't believe him, but that was the only explanation of how he could have survived the explosion and crash without any serious injury. After he had cleaned up, they had gone to see a friend of Vachon's. Screed. Another vampire. This one lived in the tunnels under the city. According to Vachon, he was a Carouche, a vampire who drank animal blood. Apparently, Screed's main diet was the rats and other small creatures that also inhabited the tunnels.
She mounted the stairs and looked around. The place was decrepit and filled with miscellaneous junk and dust. "Hello? Anybody there?" She called. Someone had to have been there recently, because candles were burning. "Anyone there?" Nervously, she pulled her gun. "Vachon? Hello?"
A dark, oddly dressed man stepped out onto a balcony above her. He leaped the railing, dropped down on her and grabbed her roughly. "Donde esta el? (Where is he?)"
Tracy leveled her gun against his chest. "I'm a police officer. Step back or I'll shoot."
When he made no attempt to release her, she fired at him point blank. He flinched, but he did not fall. His eyes tuned a brilliant yellow gold and fangs appeared from his upper teeth.
"Oh ... my ... God." She whispered loudly as the blood drained from her face. She staggered backward a few steps.
He picked her up and held her aloft. "Donde esta el? Diga me antes yo se muerta. Donde esta? (Where is he? Tell me before I kill you. Where is he?)"
"I have no idea who you are talking about." Tracy said, her voice quivering.
"My twin. Javier Vachon. I am Amaru. The Inca. And I will kill him when I find him."
**********
It was a shaken Tracy Vetter that walked into the precinct that night. Between Vachon ... and Screed ... and her encounter with the Inca, her normally ordered and rather mundane world had been turned upside down and inside out. < Vampires are a myth. Aren't they? > But she had spent the day with two of them, and had been threatened and nearly killed by another. And the most frustrating part was, she couldn't tell anyone. She had made a solemn vow to Vachon in exchange for him letting her live. Besides, who would believe her if she did say anything? If she hadn't experienced it firsthand, she wouldn't even believe her.
"Knight. Schanke. Vetter. In my office." Reese called from the door of his temporary office. The maintenance crews had been working around the clock, and had managed to clean up most of the damage from the bomb, but there were still ladders, materials and paint cans everywhere in the bullpen, and plywood still covered many of the blown out windows and partitions.
"Knight, I know you and Schanke have been partners for some time." Captain Reese said as the three sat down. "And while partners usually means a pair, I'm going to assign Vetter to work with you. Before you go giving me any arguments, You are going to need all the help you can get to track down this bomber, and Vetter can use the knowledge she will gain from being with two experienced cops like you. Got that? Good. Now, get me the bomber. And get him yesterday."
"I may have some information on that." Tracy said as they returned to their desks. Until they could get her a desk, she sat in a chair on the side of the other desks. "A ... uh ... snitch ... told me he had seen one of the stewardesses carrying a box on the plane. He said it looked like a music box. He said he had seen the man who gave it to her as well."
"Who is this snitch? Get him down here so we can get a description of the man. This may be our bomber." Nick said.
"His name is Javier Vachon." Tracy replied.
Nick swallowed hard. And turned even paler than he already was. Javier Vachon was one of the regulars around the Raven. He played guitar in a band that performed there on an irregular basis. He had a reputation among the Community as a slacker and a ne'er do well. If Tracy knew him, did she know who, or more importantly, what he was? "How did you meet him?"
"Come on, Nick. You know that I can't reveal things like that. I probably shouldn't have even told you his name." Tracy said. Nick could tell that her heart was beating like a triphammer. "I'll talk to him and try to get him down here, but don't hold your breath. He is not the kind of person who has a very high regard for cops."
< And I'm going to have a VERY long talk with him, too. >
**********
He pushed through the crowd toward the broadcast booth where his creator and master was broadcasting his nightly radio show.
"Black magic. Voodoo. Bombers in the sky. People kill people ... and I don't know why." The lilting hypnotic sounds of the Nightcrawler came over the crowd.
"What a piece of work is a man? How noble in reason. How infinite in faculty. In form, in moving, how express and admirable he is. In action how like an angel. In apprehension, how like a god. The beauty of the world. The paragon of animals.
Why try to probe a murderer's mind? What do you hope to see? His motive? His meaning? His secret dreams? You won't find a clue in mine. And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of this dust? Man delights me... NOT... " Lucien LaCroix looked up as his son came toward him. He queued a long playing album and motioned for him to come into the booth.
"Who is Javier Vachon?" Nick asked.
"Who's the last man to play backup for Charo. Famous Javiers for 400, please." He laughed as Nick's face took on a disgusted expression. "You're losing your sense of humor as well." He said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Yes, I believe I do know the man. Young Spaniard. Irresponsible." He gestured across the room, to where a scantily dressed blonde woman was dancing on stage. "She knows him quite well."
"Who is she?"
"An innocent goddess named Urs. For the last century she's been running with him and his mangy crew."
Nick waited until she had finished her number and then approached her. "I understand you know Javier Vachon." It was not quite a question.
"He's not here anymore. He left a couple of days ago for parts unknown. He heard the Inca was in town and he beat a path out of here." Urs said as she sipped the drink that Miklos had set in front of her. It was the 'house special'.
"He's still here. And so is the Inca. That's the good news. The bad news is he might be involved with a friend of mine. And if anything happens to her, he's going to have to answer to me. I need to find him. Soon. Urs, please. Help me find him before he runs away again."
"Try the old church on Collier Street. That's where he stays when he's in town."
Janette came out of the back. "I thought I heard Nicholah out here." She said to LaCroix.
"You did. He was looking for that Spaniard. What's his name ... Vachon?" He stared at his 'daughter' a few seconds. "I didn't expect to see you here. I thought you had moved on. That you wanted to reexamine your feelings about being a vampire."
"I did. And I have. I find that, unlike Nicholah, I'm perfectly happy being a vampire. Besides, do you really think I'd give up the Raven? It's been too much of my life for the past twenty years to let it go."
"And what about people noticing that you haven't aged?"
"I don't have that much contact with the mortal world. And if anyone has noticed, they haven't said anything to me. I think I'll stay around a little longer. After all, someone has to referee between you and Nicholah."
**********
Nick hauled Vachon out of the shadows. He held the terrified younger vampire aloft by his jaw.
"I told her everything I know about the crash, and then I let her go." Vachon wheezed.
"She knows what you are?"
"She's a resister. She only knows about a friend of mine named Screed, and only because I needed to see him about something. She wouldn't let me out of her sight, so I had to take her with me. And she knows about me, of course. I made her swear a solemn oath she wouldn't tell anything to anyone."
Nick let go of his jaw, but the young vampire remained frozen in place.
"She's your responsibility now. The rest of our kind will kill her if they find out. Are you going to run away from her like you're doing with the Inca? Your business with him is none of my concern. That's up to you ... and your conscience. But what you do with Tracy IS my business." The older vampire emphasized his remarks by allowing his fangs to grow and his eyes to change. "The only reason you're alive right now is because you let her go. If you want to take off, go ahead. But there will come a day, Vachon. There will come a day when you'll have to stop running away and live up to your word. It might as well be now. Believe me, eternity is a long time to keep running."
**********
"So, Tracy, how long have you known this ... Vachon. And what sort of a guy is he." Schanke said as they returned from dinner. He liked the new detective immediately. She was young and relatively inexperienced. He doubted that the ink was even dry on her Detective's Certificate. Because of who her father was, she appeared to be an overachiever. It was as though she had to be ten times better than everybody else just to be considered mediocre. But he could see that she had all the right qualities to make a first rate detective. In addition, she readily accepted his invitation for dinner. After all the years that Knight had turned him down ... even though he now knew the reason why ... it still felt good to have someone to share a meal with.
"He's ... sort of ... well ... " Tracy stammered.
"What does he do for a living?"
"He ... well ... He's ... "
"A bum."
"No. He's a musician."
"Like I said. A bum. Tracy. I like you. You sort of remind me of the kind of person I'd like Jenny to grow up to be. If this ... this musician ... EVER hurts you. In ANY way. Tell me and I'll make sure that he lives to regret it."
< I doubt that. He'd probably make a meal out of you if you even tried. > "I trust him." She said, somewhat shakily.
"I don't."
**********
Carefully, he placed the ball of Semtex in the army surplus ammo container. With a watchmaker's skill, he inserted the detonator cap into the blue putty like mass. To this, he attached a remote timer. They would learn that he didn't like to be told what to do. All of them would learn. He showed the firemen in Seattle, the postal workers in Montreal, and the City Council in Edmonton and now he would show the police here in Toronto. Government people everywhere were nothing but hard hearted bullies. They had arrested him for that apartment house bombing when he had done nothing wrong. They didn't have enough evidence to convict him, though. The owner deserved to be punished. He had evicted him, hadn't he? He was once a government worker like the others. Then they got the other government agencies to hound him. They fired him because of the incident. Now they all would pay.
Dollard was an exception. Well, not really. He was going to ratfink on him to the government, after all. And then there were the police officers that were taking that scumbag to Vancouver. They had to learn. They all had to learn.
Gingerly, he put the box with the rest in the duffel bag. One ball of the explosive, along with a detonator, he packed into the base of a ballerina music box.
**********
Detective Schanke was waiting outside the Raven for Vachon to take his break. Tracy had said that he was playing there. He was easy to spot. With his long hair and scruffy three day beard, he looked just like Schanke expected him to look. He walked into his path as he exited the back door. "You Javier Vachon?" He asked.
"Who wants to know?"
Schanke pulled out his badge. "Let's just say we have a mutual friend. Tracy Vetter."
"I told her all I know. I've even agreed to come down to the precinct and try to identify the bomber."
"That's not why I'm here. Tracy's a good lady. I want to make sure she stays that way." Even though the detective was almost a foot shorter than the musician was, he got right into his face. "Listen to me and listen to me good." His face took on a hard, tough appearance. "If anything happens to Tracy. If even so much as a hair on her head is even mussed up, I'm gonna make you regret the day you were born. I'm going to be all over you like stink on a skunk. Like ugly on an ape. I'm going to be camping in your back pocket. I'm going to be closer to you than your BVD's. You got that straight?"
"< What is this? Let's all get together and gang up on the Spaniard week? First Knight, and now her mortal partner. >
"I said ... COMPRENDE?" Schanke grabbed his shirt.
For a brief second, Vachon's eyes yellowed. He quickly closed them and when he opened them they were brown again. He nodded. "Comprende. Now. Can I go back inside? The next set is almost ready to start."
**********
Vachon nodded as the police artist made minor modifications to the sketch. "Yeah. That's him. That's the man I saw giving the box to the stewardess."
"Good." Reese said, putting his hand on the man's shoulder. "Thanks for coming down and helping us." He turned to the artist. "I want this faxed to every precinct in the city as well as Provincial and RCMP. I want copies in every post office and on every telephone pole between the Yukon and Prince Edward Island. I want his face staring out from every newspaper and TV screen in the country. In short, I WANT HIM!"
**********
Natalie was making some routine deliveries when Tracy walked into the squad room, looking on top of the world. She was humming a lively tune and waving and smiling at everyone she passed. This was in direct contrast the shy insecure person who had come into the bullpen only six days before.
"Oh, my God, Tracy, what are you taking?" Natalie said as she laid a stack of reports on Nick's desk. "Whatever it is, I want some. Tell me, Detective Vetter, have you always been this prone to extreme mood swings?"
Tracy blushed noticeably. "Well, the most incredible thing happened to me. Well, not exactly incredible, but at least good. The most ... normal ... thing happened. I met this guy. This nice, everyday, average guy. Gary Reynolds. Who just happens to be very... nice, and extremely good looking."
"Does he have a job?"
"Underground engineer with the city, thank you very much. Works nights, like me. And I'm supposed to call him when I get off, so we can go out for breakfast." She fished Gary's phone number out of her shirt, and showed it to Natalie.
"Normal, normal, normal." Tracy said with a smile.
"Normal is good." Nat said as she went to the next desk to deliver another stack. "Oh dear, I'm beginning to sound just like your mother."
"Mum's okay enough. It's Dad that's the pain in the butt." Tracy sat down at her makeshift desk and put a shopping bag on the floor beside her.
"Knight! Schanke! Vetter!" Reese called as he hurried through the squadroom. "With me!" He turned in the direction of the police lab as the three fell in behind him. "Some swap meet dealer brought this in twenty minutes ago. Bought it from a scavenger. Some homeless guy who found it on a sewer pipe. Idiot thought it was a cellular phone transponder."
They reached the lab, where a technician had disassembled the box and had the components spread out on a table.
"You're sure it's Vudu?" Reese asked.
"Detonators are a positive match with the fragments that were in the bomb from your office. And from the plane." The technician confirmed. "This one contains enough Semtex to level a city block. About half a kilo. We got a fax from Winnipeg in response to our queries. Ten days ago thirty kilos of Semtex were stolen from a munitions factory there.
"Then he has enough for sixty of these?" Schanke asked the technician
"Yeah, about that."
"Sixty? Dear God." Reese turned a shade of grayish beige.
"He could level the entire city with that much explosives." Tracy whispered loudly.
Back in the squad room, Reese was barking out orders to the assembled precinct. "All right, let's get people off the streets. Out of the subways. Let's clear all of the downtown apartment buildings and hotels. Check the office buildings. We've got to get everyone out. Set up search teams. The bombs could be anywhere, so let's start underground since that's where the first one was found."
"I have a friend who's an underground engineer." Tracy said. "Let me give him a call." She hurried to her desk and dug out 'Gary's' number. "He might be able to help."
"I'll take the homeless guy who found it." Nick said.
"What about me?" Schanke called.
"You handle the coordination. You're good at that stuff." Nick called as he headed for the door.
Schanke gave him the 'Why Me' look.
'Gary Reynolds' flagged down a passing cab and got inside. "Take me to the airport." He told the driver.
Seemingly out of nowhere, Vachon was suddenly leaning on the cab door in such a way that the driver couldn't move.
"Hey, 'Gary' ... weren't you supposed to be meeting Tracy somewhere around now?" He said to the passenger
In less time than a thought, Vudu hurled the cab door open and knocked the Spaniard off balance, knocking him to the ground. He took off at a run, cutting across the street. Vachon quickly picked himself up and followed the bomber. Since there were others around, he had to limit himself to human speed. As he darted into the street, a passing vehicle broadsided him.
"Get out of the way!" He yelled as he cut around the car, but by now Vudu had vanished.
Satisfied that he had lost the Spaniard, Vudu went to a nearby travel agency, and made plans to leave Toronto. This time by rail. No use pushing his luck. As he was about to leave, his cellular phone rang. " Hello ... Oh hi, Tracy."
"Hi, Gary. Have you got a minute? I've got an emergency here."
"Sure. I can talk. I'm taking my break now." He lied. "Just finished some structural inspections over on Bloor."
"We've got a really bad bomb situation on our hands." Tracy continued. "The entire downtown area is in jeopardy. We think they may be hidden underground. Maybe sixty of them. Blue metal boxes, about the size of a cereal carton.
"Do they say 'City of Toronto' on them?" He asked.
Tracy had a surprised look on her face. "You know about them?"
"Yeah, I've seen a couple of them. I thought they were the new gas monitors." Gary mentally scrambled to cover his tracks. "Meet me at St. Patrick's Station, say in ten minutes. They're underneath there in the heating tunnels. Hey, listen, I think I left my shopping bag at the coffee shop. Did you happen to find it?
"Yeah, I did. Want me to bring it with me?"
"Sure." He turned off the phone and walked outside.
**********
"There are some bombs under St. Patrick's Station." Tracy called out to the assembled officers. "My friend found them. I'm on my way there now." She picked up the shopping bag and headed for the door.
"Tracy. Don't do anything stupid." Schanke called. "Like try to disarm them. Wait for the bomb squad." He was too late. Tracy was out the door almost as fast as his partner.
**********
Nick arrived at Screed's lair almost at the same instant as the Inca.
"Oh, this is wonnerful it is. Give the Inca me fax number and me address on the Internet while you're at it too." Screed said as he spotted the two of them. "You're insane showing 'im this squat."
Nick saw another of the bombs sitting nearby. When he picked it up, Screed grabbed it back.
"Getcher 'ands off me stuff." Screed scowled, holding it tightly to his chest. "I finds 'em. I keeps 'em."
"You know where more of these are?" Nick asked.
"I ain't tellin' you skut, Copper."
"They're bombs. Screed."
"Yeah, and I'm your Aunt Charley."
"With enough Semtex in them to blow up a city block."
Screed quickly set the box on the crate that acted as a table and hurriedly backed away. "Would that be the blue goo what's inside 'em? And you say these boomers can do in a whole city block?"
"Yeah, and we need to find as many of them as we can."
"For two bills apiece?"
Nick sighed heavily. < If that's what it takes. > "Twist my arm."
Screed, Nick and the Inca began hunting the bombs. A few minutes later, Screed handed a bundle of them to Nick. "That's ten of the blighters. You now owes me twenty big ones."
The Inca arrived with more. Screed took them from him. "Graci ...has. Me amy . . goo." He handed them to Nick. "And that makes seven more you can add to me ayecount, you can."
The Inca looked at him with disgust and left to find more.
**********
Tracy walked to the plaza in front of St. Patrick's Station. She held Gary's shopping bag to her. From his hidden vantage point in one of the doorways, Vudu could see her clearly. As he dialed a number on his cellular phone, the music box in the bag began to play. Just then, Vachon set down in the plaza a few paces behind where the bomber was concealed. With his enhanced sight, he spotted Vudu and in an eyeblink, flew to him. He grabbed the mortal, slamming him back into the wall.
"You're late." Vudu wheezed, out of breath from the attack.
"For what?"
"For this." Vudu drew a pistol and pressed it against Vachon's torso. He pulled the trigger twice. The bullets slammed into Vachon's spine. Temporarily stunned, he jerked backward and fell to the ground.
**********
Tracy cautiously took the package out of the shopping bag and stared at it as the music box continued to play. Suddenly, Tracy made the connection. The tune was the same as the one from the plane … and Reese's office. Why hadn't she seen it before? How could she have been so blind? Gary was the man in the sketch. Gary was Vudu. She took out her cell phone and dialed the precinct number.
**********
Reese shifted the phone to his other ear and picked up his cell phone. He pressed the speed dial number for Knight. "She's at St. Patrick's and won't leave." He told Nick. "The bomb squad's on the way, but I don't know if they'll get there in time, Knight. They're spread kind of thin, what with all the other bombs."
"Tell her I'm just around the corner, and I'll be with her in less than a minute, all right?"
"All right." He hung up the cell phone and relayed the instructions to Tracy on the other one.
In the tunnel, Nick turned to Screed and the Inca and told them what he had learned. "Keep looking." He said. "I'm going after Tracy."
Screed looked at him a few moments. "The det'nater's been set on them thingies, and you expects me to find more of 'em? You're out of your flippin' bloody mind, you are."
"Five big ones for each of them."
Screed thought for a moment. "Then again, I'm immortal after all. For five hunnert, I s'pose I could take me chances."
Nick headed for the tunnel underneath St Patrick's Station. The Inca followed him.
***********
Tracy sat on the bench at the entrance to the subway platform. The bag containing the music box was beside her. She was still talking to Reese on the phone. "It's kind of funny when you think about it. It was right there in front of us. Woman cop. The Commissioner's daughter. I was his perfect choice. I should have seen it. It's all my fault."
"Tracy, please listen." Reese said. "You can't blame yourself. You're a good cop. You carried yourself like a pro during one hell of a week."
< You don't know the half of it. > " There's no more time, I'm driving into the lake with it. No one going to come and rescue me, Captain. I'm alone."
Vudu came up behind her, and pushed a gun into her back. "I'm here, Tracy." He said softly, seductively. "Just like I said I'd be."
"He's here, Captain." Tracy whispered into the phone.
"Knight?"
"Vudu."
He took the phone from her and threw it to the ground and then stomped on it. It shattered into several pieces. "Now, keep calm." Vudu pointed the gun at the bag. "Open the box. I bought it just for you. There's no way to disarm it. It's got a range of five miles and a five-minute mainspring. I mean, it's some of my best work. So let's just listen to the music, and wait for it to wind down." He sat beside her, and tapped the box with the barrel of the gun. "Open it."
"So, how many bombs are there?" Tracy asked. Her hands shook as she took it out.
"Fifty. Should be enough to level everything quite nicely."
Vachon walked across the plaza. He put his finger to his lips just as Tracy called out his name.
Vudu turned to the vampire coming toward him. "You're dead!" He shouted. "I shot you. Twice." He leaped to his feet and fired several more times.
Vachon flew forward and grabbed him. "You're Vudu. You're the one who bombed the plane. You killed all those people." He said as he turned the mortal's head to the side. His eyes became yellow as he sank his fangs into the bomber's throat.
Vudu made a small, whining sound as Vachon drained his life away.
Nick hit the top step of the subway station at a run, his gun drawn. The Inca was right behind him. Vachon tossed Vudu's lifeless body to the ground, and retreated to stand beside Tracy, wiping the blood from his mouth.
Nick eyed Vachon suspiciously.
"It's okay, Nick. He saved me." Tracy said, putting her arm around Vachon's waist. Vachon smiled slightly and returned the gesture
"That's Vudu. That's your bomber." Tracy said, pointing to the body at her feet. As she spoke, the spring on the music box began to wind down. Vachon grabbed it from her.
The Inca reached for the box. "You have done your part, my brother. Let me do mine. Our creator went to join Father Sun. I shall go to Mother Moon." He placed his hands on his 'twin's' shoulders and gave him a gentle kiss on each cheek. "The mandate of our creator has been fulfilled." He took the music box from Vachon, and flew into the evening sky. Far overhead, well out of range of the other detonators, the timer reached zero and a fireball lit up the heavens. Everyone let out a collective breath when none of the other packages exploded. The Inca had done his part.
Vachon looked at Tracy, then walked over to Nick, standing over Vudu's corpse. "Detective, I'm sure this must all be very confusing to you … "
Nick gave the young vampire a puzzled look, but decided to play along. "Yes it is. Very confusing."
Vachon gestured imperceptibly toward Tracy. Nick nodded, and continued to play the role of confused mortal. "I want you to look in my eyes." Vachon said in his best hypnotic voice. "Let me tell you what you will remember ... and what you will forget... "
As Vachon finished his 'hypnosis', several squad cars and the bomb squad pulled up to the curb. Schanke and Reese were the first ones out.
"Thank you very much Mister Detective Nicholas Knight and Miss Detective Tracy Vetter." Schanke said as he approached. "Thanks for leaving me at the station under a mountain of paperwork while you two were out here having all the fun."
Tracy looked at him steely eyed. "You call nearly being blown to smithereens fun? If it wasn't for Vachon here ... "
"What exactly IS he doing here?" He looked at the Spaniard. "I thought I told you to leave her alone."
"You WHAT?" Tracy said.
"Don't get all upset. I just had a little talk with him. To make sure that he wouldn't hurt you in any way."
"And just WHO do you think YOU are, Mister Detective Donald Schanke? Who appointed YOU my guardian angel? You're even worse than my father. At least HE is a relative. I don't NEED anyone to protect me. In case nobody has noticed, I'm all grown up now. I'm a BIG GIRL! I can take care of myself VERY NICELY, thank you." Fire blazed from behind her eyes and Nick could almost see the smoke coming out of her ears. "Vachon." She said coldly. "Would YOU mind taking me back to the station? I think I need some fresh air." She slipped her arm into his and led him to her car.
Nick and Schanke watched as the two of them drove off.
"She's got some temper there." Schanke observed. "You'd think I did something wrong."
"You didn't really read him the riot act, did you?" Nick asked.
"What's the big deal? So I threatened him a little. I mean I was just trying to put a little fear of the lord into him."
"Schanke. He's like me."
"Don't give me that. He's nothing like you. He's a bum and a no good ... " Schanke's eyes went wide and he half choked as the meaning of Nick's words sank in. "You mean he's a ... a ... "
"Vampire."
Schanke sat down hard on the bench. "Man o man. When I put my foot in my mouth, I put it in all the way up to my Fruit Of The Loom's."
**********
Vachon sat in the loft of the church. He was idly strumming a tune on a new guitar he had bought. < This song is soft and sensual. Sort of like Tracy. > He smiled at that thought. < Maybe I might just enjoy being responsible for her. >
At that moment, the object of his thoughts climbed the stairs. "Hey Vachon. You're still here. Screed's place was empty, so I kind of figured that you might have ... "
Vachon smiled broadly as he lay down his guitar and took both of her hands in his. "He usually runs off to Vegas whenever he's got some extra cash. He'll come back, though ... He always does. By the way. Does Knight ... you know ... remember anything?"
Tracy wrapped her arm around his waist and willingly let herself be led to the couch. "No. He doesn't remember a thing. I told everyone that the Inca saved me from Vudu. That I ran into the subway station, and when I came out, Vudu was dead, and the Inca and the box were just ... gone. They're chalking it up to weird luck." She took a deep breath. "Look, Javier. About Detective Schanke. I mean ... He thought he was only looking out for my best interests ... I wouldn't want you to do anything ... you know ... "
Vachon smiled softly. "Don't worry, Tracy. I'm not going to do anything foolish. I understand what he was trying to do. And I'm glad you have friends who are willing to go that extra mile for you."
"I'm not worried. Um, look ... I ... " Tracy stammered.
"Maybe I could ... I mean maybe we could ... um ... I mean ... " He took a deep breath. "Would you like to go to a movie with me next Thursday? I understand that's your day off." He said, almost running the words together.
"Then you're not going to leave?"
"Not for a long time." He put his chin on her head and took a deep breath. < Apricots and Callia Lilies. >
"I'm glad you're staying, Vachon."
"So am I." Vachon pulled her to him and his lips found hers.
**********
Tracy pulled her scarf tighter around her face. The Icy winds coming off the lake were especially cold this winter. She didn't mind that, but being stuck in a car. On stakeout. On a lakefront pier. She did mind. Especially at night.
The three had been temporarily assigned to Narcotics to help ferret out a ring working in the city. Nick had gone undercover. He was meeting with the big bosses tonight. A tagged shipment of drugs had been closely monitored from Columbia through the Great Lakes to Toronto. It had come in three days ago, marked as 'Farm Equipment'. (Doesn't the mob have ANY imagination?) Now, they were only waiting for them to be delivered to the street dealers. Their best sources said it would be transferred tonight. A small army of police, RCMP, and US and Canadian Coast Guardsmen stood at the ready a few blocks away.
Don Schanke tapped at the window. He held up a Starbuck's bag and indicated that she should open the door for him. He didn't have to ask twice.
"Thanks." She said as she gulped the steaming elixir. "I really needed that. How did you know?"
"Elementary, my dear Watson." Don said in a very bad English accent. He took two creme filled donuts from the bag as well. "One, it's cold out. Two, you're a cop. And three, cops and coffee and donuts go together. It's our basic food." He handed one of the donuts to her. "Chocolate or regular filled?"
"It doesn't matter." She took another sip of the coffee. "Any word from Nick?"
"Not yet. He'll light the light when the time comes." He pointed to a box with a string of small lights on it. Red meant something is wrong, get in here ASAP. Yellow meant not tonight. Green meant GO FOR IT. Nick had tiny corresponding buttons on his wrist watch. It looked like something out of Bond ... James Bond. "There's no way we can contact him without blowing his cover."
"I know ... Still ... "
"Trust him. After all a v ... an experienced cop like him can take care of himself. You've been around us long enough to know that, haven't you?" Don carefully watched Tracy's face to see if she caught the slip. Apparently she hadn't. It had become almost normal for him to think of Nick as a vampire. He didn't see the evil and depravity that Nick did. He only saw what he had seen all along. Nick was his partner ... and his friend.
Tracy thought for a moment. In the months she had been partnered with them, she had learned so much. Not only about police work, but about herself as well. She was no longer Tracy Vetter, The Commissioner's Daughter ... She was simply Tracy Vetter. She had come into her own right. She no longer felt she had to prove herself on a daily basis. That made her much less prone to taking unnecessary risks and much more confident in herself and her abilities.
Not that she hadn't taken her share of risks. Mostly stupid. Like that Modeling Agency fiasco. If it hadn't been for Nick and Schanke, she would have ended up in the lake like the other models.
It had shattered her belief that all cops were good and noble protectors when she found out that her friend Bruce Spencer was using tactics that were unethical, if not downright illegal to catch his suspects. Again, Nick and Schanke had saved her from making a foolish mistake.
Of course her appearance on that talk show was pushing things a bit. She nearly gave Vachon fits when she insisted that he be in on the action. Dumb! Dumb! Dumb! But then again, Reese had ordered her to do the show. So in a way it was his fault, too.
And, although she was only trying to find a heart donor to help her Uncle Sonny, her unauthorized queries had helped to crack the 'Missing Hearts' case... and probably saved Natalie's life.
Then she had been instrumental in solving what she had called the 'Vampire Murders Case' without revealing to either partner that the killer, Ellen had multiple personalities and that one of them was really a vampire. That bought her grudging approval from Vachon as well. She smiled. Not bad for a rookie detective.
"Penny for your thoughts." Schanke interrupted.
"Nothing actually." Tracy said. "Just doing a quick mental review of the past few months. I really have to hand it to you guys. Reese was right. I've learned so much from you two that I couldn't possibly have learned anywhere else." Impulsively, she reached over and kissed him lightly on the cheek. "Thanks."
Schanke blushed. "You're welcome." He whispered.
**********
Tony Solvino, the one they called the Solver, sat in the warehouse office. He did not look like your typical hood. He was slight, almost gaunt, with a monk's fringe of salt and pepper hair. A lone tuft of hair stood straight up on the top of his head. That, and the huge tortoise shell glasses he wore, gave him an almost cartoonish quality. Except that this 'cartoon' controlled much of the drug traffic in all of Ontario and parts of the surrounding provinces.
With help from Thomas Constantine, Nick had been introduced as Nick Constantine, Thomas's 'nephew 'and a prominent member of the 'family' in Richmond Virginia. According to Constantine, he was visiting here to observe operations. A few well placed 'suggestions' by the elder Constantine and they had accepted him without question into the upper echelons of the ring.
Unlike other places this group had met, this warehouse was not abandoned. It was relatively new and was obviously used as a legitimate storage facility.
"Okay, everybody." Tony said to the crowd gathered on the warehouse floor. As best as Nick could tell, every one of the high level dealers were there. There were also dealers and representative from several of the other rings and some from the 'Organization' on the other side of the Lakes. "Everybody knows what they have to do. I don't want any slipups. If we can pull this off, we will be in a position to control everything that comes up the Great Lakes. That means more money than any of us could possibly count. Not to mention the power. Now, let's get cracking. This stuff has to be out of here in the next hour."
Nick 'looked' at his watch. At the same time, he pushed the green button.
**********
The precinct was justifiably basking in the limelight. The operation had netted almost a billion dollars in uncut drugs as well as nearly all of the dealers in the Toronto ring. In addition, there were guaranteed to be numerous indictments handed down in both Canada and the US as a result of the night's raid. Word was strong that Detectives Knight, Schanke, and Vetter were being seriously considered for a commendation from the Prime Minister.
"Again, Tracy was the one who provided a piece of key evidence." Schanke told the group. "If her ... snitch hadn't told her about the rumors on the waterfront, we never would have become involved." What she didn't know was that Vachon had come to them first and that it was their idea for him to go to Tracy.
"But if Detective Schanke hadn't recognized one of the suspects in the Penderson killing as a drug dealer, and if Nick hadn't gone undercover ... " Tracy added.
"Well, while you two are busy attending this meeting of the Mutual Admiration Society, I'm going to go over to the Morgue and see if the reports on the Ellerton case are ready." Nick said. " While everybody's standing around patting themselves on the back, somebody's got to do some work around here." There was more than a hint of laughter in his voice. He was rewarded with several wads of paper striking his back as he 'covered' his head and made a show of running for the door.
"Give Natalie all of our love, too." Tracy added, smiling at the double entendre. Everyone knew that the Detective and the Coroner were an item. The more they tried to deny it, the more obvious it was.
"Yeah. See Nickey go. Go to the morgue, Nickey. See the Coroner. See Nickey make goo-goo eyes at the pretty Coroner." Schanke said. Thankfully, Nick was already out the door and couldn't see him blowing kisses into the air.
"I heard that, Schanke." Nick whispered to himself as he started the Caddy.
**********
In the next instant, they were gone. On the TV, the credits were scrolling up the screen.
"Apenas un minuto condenado. (Just one damn minute.)" Javier Vachon mumbled as he descended the stairs of the choir loft. It was nearly dawn and he had just gotten to sleep when the pounding started. "Su es golpear despertara el muerto. (You're knocking loud enough to wake the dead.)" He grumbled. "Pero entonces, yo soy el muerto (But then, I am the dead.)" He smiled at the joke as he opened the church door.
Tracy Vetter was still pounding, this time on his chest.
"Easy, there." He said, pulling her close to him. It was more out of self preservation than anything else. She was still pounding frantically. Her eyes seemed glassy and she didn't seem to realize that the door was even open. Slowly, reality seemed to filter through the haze.
"I'm sorry, Vachon." She said as she brushed an imaginary piece of something off his muscular chest. All he was wearing was a pair of jeans. "It's just after the horrible dream I just had, I couldn't stay in my place. I had to be with someone. I hope you don't mind I came here." She half sobbed.
"Not at all." < Queirda . > "Now, tell me about this dream that has you so torn up." He said as he took her arm and guided her back to his living quarters. "It must have been some kind of nightmare. I've never seen you come this unglued before."
"I'm not even really sure it was a dream." Tracy continued. She sipped at the glass of brandy Vachon had given her. It went a long way to calm her frazzled nerves. "It seemed much too real. There was this man. At least I think he was a man. He was big and black and he was dressed all in black. He looked like what I think an Enforcer would like from what you told me about them. Am I making any sense at all?"
"Yes." He whispered. "You are making sense. Go on."
"He was standing in my bedroom and he ... he said that he knew that I knew about you. I mean about you being a ... a what you are ... a vampire. He said that I, and the other mortals that knew about ... you ... were being watched and if I ... If we ... said anything, everyone involved would be dealt with. He didn't say it, but I got the distinct impression that it would be very painful ... if not fatal." She was almost hyperventilating. "Does that mean there are others who know ... what I know?"
Vachon nodded. "A few." He whispered almost inaudibly.
"And everyone is in danger because of what I know. I mean ... Do you know what I mean? I mean ... " She held her head and began trembling again.
Vachon put his arm comfortingly around her and gently rubbed her back. He could feel the knots and muscles relax slightly. "Tracy. It's all right. I promise you everything will work out." He said in the best soothing voice he could muster. He knew what she meant. A pair of Enforcers had visited him earlier in the night and they had told him basically the same thing. He had given them his solemn promise that Tracy could be trusted to keep their secret. They did not have to remind of the consequences if she breached that secret. They reminded him anyway. Graphically. It was a good thing vampires healed quickly.
Vachon continued stroking her back. He gently guided her head to his shoulder. Softly, he began rock her back and forth and to hum a lullaby. His mother had sung it to him when he was a little boy and frightened of the monsters that inhabited the spaces under his bed. That, and the brandy, gradually took effect. He watched as the tension left her face and her eyes slowly closed. Her breathing became relaxed and regular. Tenderly, Vachon lowered the sleeping Tracy to the couch.
His heart ached for her. She looked so innocent and angelic in her slumber. She shouldn't have to go through this kind of hell because of him. < Maybe I should have run when I had the chance. Too late now. > As he stood up, she began to toss and softly cry, much like a small child. He fished the blanket from his bed and gently lay beside her and pulled the cover around the both of them. Her arms enfolded him and she snuggled against his chest. The whimpering slowly subsided as she cuddled her vampire safety blanket. Eventually, his eyes also closed.
**********
"Yes, I am an Enforcer." He said. "And no, I am not here to kill you, merely to warn you."
"Aren't you supposed to kill those who know about the ... about vampires?"
"You ask many questions for a mortal."
"I figure if I'm going to die, I may as well have all the answers."
**********
Don Schanke brushed the invisible speck of dust from his plaque. Nick and Tracy also had theirs. The award ceremony, thankfully, was held indoors so Nick could attend. As with most 'official' functions, it was long and boring. "Now that's something we can all be proud of." He said as he fingered the engraved message on the Commendation.
Presented to
Donald G. Schanke
Nicholas B. Knight
Tracy A. Vetter
On behalf of a grateful nation
For their outstanding contribution to
Law Enforcement
It was signed by the Prime Minister and the Minister of Public Safety.
In addition, there was a healthy cash award, and Reese had thrown in a two week paid administrative leave for the three of them.
"What about you, Tracy? What are you going to do with your awards?" Nick asked.
"Well, ... a ... friend of mine ... has a gig in St. Louis next week. I thought I'd go there and listen to him play."
"That wouldn't be Vachon, by any chance, would it?" Schanke asked.
"NO!" Tracy said, a little too loud and a little too quickly. "It's ... It's ... " Slowly, almost imperceptibly, she shook her head. "Yes. It's Vachon." She said softly, hanging her head slightly.
Schanke put his arm around her and pulled her face up. "Don't worry, Trace. My opinion of him has changed completely from my first one. In the past few months, he hasn't ... done anything ... that would hurt you ... or anything like that. Maybe, just maybe he might turn out to be an all right guy after all."
Tracy's face lit up. "Thanks, Don. I'm glad you changed your mind. He really is a pretty nice guy once you get to know him."
"I agree with Schanke. Vachon is ... living up to ... expectations." Nick added.
"You know, Nick. You haven't said what you are going to do with your time off." Tracy chided.
"Nothing."
"NOTHING?" They both said at the same time.
"To me that's the best vacation of all. Oh, I might invite Nat to come over and watch movies or maybe take her to a play or a concert, but I fully intend to take this time and just do nothing."
"And you, Schanke? What are you going to do?"
"I've been wanting to take the entire family on a holiday. You know that trip to Aruba last year? Well Myra and I sort of used that as a second honeymoon. This time, we're going to take Jenny with us. And I don't mean to Myra's mother's place in Nova Scotia. Now with the award and the two weeks off we can really take a real honest to goodness holiday. I've already set the plans in motion. We're going to Disney World. See you all in two weeks. Hasta La Bye Bye."
**********
The end?
See you at the beginning of
The next story.